The Spider's Orders
by PaganGoldfish
Summary: In the aftermath of the attack on Volskaya industries, world leaders and Overwatch are all scrambling to protect themselves from the evidently unstoppable cyber abilities of the "shade of Los Muertos". To protect his friends, Soldier 76 calls together his old strike team to come up with a plan. ((This is my first fanfiction, so please leave any criticism you have below.)) Ongoing..
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Pixilated, purple blobs floated, wandering aimlessly inside the musty concrete. The room was dark, save for a single, swinging lightbulb flickering terrifyingly above. The _click click click_ of a woman typing almost covered the endless strings of angry Spanish she swore under her breath. Several blobs of pixels were being discharged and reabsorbed and pulled apart like putty with the strange, typewriter-like machine the woman was using. Her hair was frayed and her eyes bloodshot- she had been doing this for hours, maybe days. The Talon agent immediately regretted not knocking on the door first.

He was wearing a black suit, his helmet off and left in his locker. _She'll remember my face._ He realized, breaking out in a cold sweat. He had only been part of the patrols around the Mexican HQ for a week, and he now knows why she is called the "shade of Los Muertos". His hands shook so hard that they almost dropped memory stick and cardboard cup of coffee he held. He'd ordered the coffee without sugar or milk or anything. _Shit, did she want sugar? I didn't ask._ His mind was working frantically, his heartbeat was pounding against his chest. _God, I don't know. I don't want to die, not today._ She hasn't noticed the guard yet, maybe he can slip away, go back to that store and see what she usually gets-

The clicking stopped. She had noticed. He was frozen, completely unable to move. His chin quivered as he tried to speak. "Ms. Som- Ms. Sombra-"

" _¿Que?_ " She spun around, and the man visibly jumped. A purple gun was lying on her lap, polished and emblazoned with her insignia, the purple skull. Her right hand moved towards it… until she spotted the coffee. Then the hand moved away from the gun, and extended outwards. Her purple nails looked like claws in the flickering light.

With rigid terror, the guard slowly walked to the shade, handing her the cup. He flinched when she snatched it away, her red eyes frenzied like a wildcat's. Immediately, she took the cup and brought it to her painted lips, easily draining a half-liter in a single gulp. She then brought the cup to her lap, holding it in both hands. She exhaled, looking almost calm.

 _Perhaps now…_ "Ms. Som-" _BANG!_ The speed at which she pulled the gun from her lap and shot was inhuman. The guard fell to the ground with a yelp, clutching his leg as fire shot up his thigh. _She shot me! She actually fucking_ shot _me!_ He dared not make any other noise, and he bit the kevlar on his shoulder to stifle his cries.

The shade took another huge gulp, finishing the largest size coffee in the town in record time. She crushed the styrofoam in her fist, threw it aside, and sat there, breathing. After a very long moment, gestured towards the guard with her gun. " _Dimelo_."

The agent wiggled forwards, and leaned onto his good knee. He was breathing heavily and bleeding everywhere. "Ms. Sombra." He held out the memory drive with his left hand. "Your… your mission."

The shade threw herself back in her chair, swearing loudly and so fluently the guard truly wondered if she was speaking Spanish or her native Demonic. After a solid minute, she stood up and over the guard. "I _told_ the Council, I am working on it, alright? Do you know how difficult it is to remotely hack into thirteen different countries databases _at the same time_? Do you?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning around. "You go back and tell Doomfist exactly where he can stick that gauntlet of his, _entiendes_?"

The guard didn't move, and the shade somehow sensed this. She didn't turn around. "Are you still here?" Her trigger finger was literally twitching.

The guard swallowed dryly. "This is not from the Council, Ms. Sombra." He didn't know how his voice didn't shake. "It is from the Widowmaker. Top secret, for your eyes only."

The shade went rigid and completely silent. But when she turned around, she had a perfectly calm, terrifying face. She plucked the drive from his outstretched hand. "Widow? And even more classified than the Council." She thought for a moment, looking the guard over. "I see. You are brave for bringing me this information. And I know the price for a good informant."

The guard almost smiled for a half second, before the shade's bullet punched through his skull. He collapsed behind her, and she spun around, plugging in the memory drive and getting back to work.


	2. Chapter 1

**Lord's Bar, London**

"Alright, I think you've kept us waiting long enough." A steel gauntlet gripped the edge of the pub's table, but immediately let off once it began to crack. The gauntlet's owner, a large tank of a man with a jagged, white beard and a scarred eye, grunted leaned back from the table. "Angela. It is good to see you, truly, but now is not the time for drinks."

"Speak for yourself." Next to the giant man, a heavily accented and slightly drunk voice protested as its owner barely reached his head over the table's edge. "I'd've thought you'd never refuse a drink, Reinhardt." He was stroking his own beard, which rolled to his chest as two blonde bundles of braided hair. He looked smaller than usual. Angela had not seen him often without any tech or armor on.

"I have yet to see you do so as well." Reinhardt picked up his mug and sipped.

Angela frowned at the giant, tracing the creases next to his eyes, and the dead scar tissue around his eye. _It's difficult to believe he's become so old._ "Is this everybody?" The bar was empty, save for the raven-haired bartender who had been polishing the same stein for hours and was obviously listening in on their conversations. By her orders, of course. "Where's Winston? Tracer? I'm sure they got word."

"Winston has been in contact with me for a while. He's holed up by the old Watchpoint." Torbjörn, the short man, squinted as he recalled. "He's been making some type of counteractive machine to protect armor and safes. Called me to ask if I could help him." The stout man snorted. "But I'll be damned if I could. It's all software. Anti-hacking devices. "

Reinhardt's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "For that Talon assassin. The shade that attacked the Volskaya corporation a while back."

Angela nodded. "If that woman gets into your armor, or my equipment, we'd be next to useless. Hell, who knows what will happen if she gets into Tracer's chronal accelerator." She leaned forwards, lowering her voice a bit. "And Talon may try to target us former Overwatch agents. Just like they targeted Mondatta."

Reinhardt locked eyes with the doctor. "Is that what this is about?" His accusation was gruff, but not unkind. "You think we're in danger?"

Angela opened her mouth to reply, then looked down at her lap. A silent confirmation.

"Angela." Reinhardt's smile was soft. "You don't need to take care of us anymore. We- and you know I mean this in a friendly way- we are not comrades, not any longer. You are not Overwatch, and as much as Winston would like us to believe that we are coming back, we aren't. Not for a long while."

"What he means is, while we're flattered by the offer, we'd like to get back to our own stinking lives." Torbjörn hopped down from his stool. "Thank you for the drinks, Doctor. It was sincerely good to see you again. But we all know that Overwatch is gone. And I have a family to be getting back to." He turned and almost waddled away when the bartender stepped in front of the door.

The man slicked back his oily hair with both hands before speaking. He was wearing a cheap black jacket and khaki pants. "Dr. Ziegler, your special guest has arrived through the back entrance." An earpiece was now visible in his left ear.

Angela's head shot back up. She mentally smacked herself back into composure. "Thank you, Oliver. Take care to lock the door behind you, and only let in those on the list."

The bartender, Oliver, looked confused. "How will I know who these two are?"

"One will have a glowing orb sticking out of her chest and the other will literally be a gorilla." Angela flashed him one of her sarcastic smiles. "I think you'll be able to figure it out."

Oliver nodded and ducked out of the bar, letting the dark, wood door loudly click behind him.

Torbjörn turned back around. "What the hell was that? The man follows you around like a bloody robot and you expect us to say nothing?"

Reinhardt stood up. "Torbjörn-"

"Oi, I was talking to the good doctor here." The small man scoffed indignantly. "Sorry if I seem a bit paranoid, but I didn't come here to get into any fights. Why would she be running around with a bodyguard if she wasn't expecting trouble?"

"Out of necessity, Torbjörn." Reinhardt took a step forwards, his steel boot clanking against the stone floor of the pub. The giant man frowned at his friend. "I've my armor, and you've your drinks. Why shouldn't Dr. Ziegler here be allowed to keep her peace of mind?"

"Don't play that card with me, Reinhardt. You know that this whole gathering is a provocation. Did you forget about the omnic Underworld here in London? You, me, and the good doctor have given them plenty of reason to hate us. We slaughtered them."

Angela's jaw tightened as she listened to the mechanic rant. "That wasn't my call." She said through a carefully composed mask. "And neither was Oliver. He was assigned to me. Now start acting like the man I once knew."

Torbjörn looked up from the floor. A sudden wave of compassion washed over his face. "Angela." He began, almost teary. "I understand why you want this. Overwatch was my life, my redemption. But now that Jack's gone, the team is dead."

"Death is… relative." A voice from behind the bar rolled over the sole patrons, gravelly and powerful. When the mechanic turned around, the first thing he saw was the visor, a red streak that cut across his bruised face like a wound. White hair stood still and was slightly singed at the edges, and bullet holes peppered a blue-black leather jacket. He was wearing a long overcoat, black and soaked from the rain, but underneath he was armed to the teeth, with several sidearms and knives that Torbjörn remembered forging himself. His face was flushed and his breath was short. So it was that Soldier 76 stumbled into the Lord's Bar.

Torbjörn's jaw fell as he recognized the white-haired man, and Reinhardt's face screwed in disbelief. Angela simply smiled as she stood up, smoothing the front of her white dress. "So, Jack. Here we are, just like you asked." She gestured around the bar. "Everyone's back."

"Where's Tracer?" Soldier leaned against the bar. He was leaning on the bar like he had run a long way to get here, and he held his side with his left arm. "Why is she not here?" He sounded … scared?

"You're hurt." The doctor realized. She pushed through the shocked Reinhardt and Torbjörn and walked up to him. "Here, let me see."

"No, Angela-"

"Now." Angela didn't wait for a reply. She moved 76 firmly around, and he grunted as he lifted his arm away from his wound. Below, his coat and jacket had been burnt away from just underneath his armpit to his thigh, and the flesh underneath was red and charred. The doctor bit her lip subconsciously as she inspected the wound. "Reinhardt, go get Oliver, he should have a red cross bag in his car. Torbjörn, clear the floor." When she turned around, the two men were just standing around dumbly. "Now!" They both perked up, and Reinhardt ran from the room with lengthy strides.

76 began to protest. "Angela, please-"

"Jack, not now." She lifted his arm, and fished her phone from her pocket. Lighting up the wound with the light gave it a bit more clarity. _A gradient degradation in severity of the burns closer to the armpit._ She realized. _A clear epicenter, along with evidence of bruising around the wound. Three gashes, jagged, hastily stitched. Fragmentation bites?_ Jack wrapped his arm around Angela's shoulder, and slowly let himself onto the floor. Torbjörn had taken his brown coat from the back of his chair and laid it out for Jack to lie on.

Reinhardt came rushing inside, carrying a steel suitcase with a red cross emblazoned on the front in his hand. Oliver came inside with him, brandishing a pistol in one fist while dialing a cell phone in the other.

Torbjörn immediately stood up. "Hey! What the hell is this?" He pointed at the handgun. "What's he doing?"

"My job. I'm here to protect you and the doctor." The man ran his hands through his hair, and shook his head. "Dr. Ziegler-"

"How many?" Angela asked as she removed Soldier's coat and jacket. She held out her hand. "Rag and Alcohol. Clear bottle with the green cap."

"There are five we could see, likely armed. One armored truck, but its impossible to see clearly with the rain." Reinhardt set down the suitcase and opened it, fishing out the bottle and handing it to the doctor. "They were wearing the Talon insignia."

"Want to be flashy, huh?" Angela poured the alcohol onto the rag and dabbed it against Soldier's side. "Oliver, Reinhardt, stay at the door. Torbjörn and I'll get Jack out through the back." She suddenly pressed the rag against the wound hard.

76 winced. "Angela-"

"What? Are we under attack?" Torbjörn was simply getting more confused. He turned to his large friend. "What's this now about Talon?"

Angela replied instead. "Jack was hit by a small explosive, a concussive grenade, maybe. They must have tracked us here. Through our phones, or earpieces." She reached into the suitcase and began looking around for something when a gloved hand pulled her away.

"Angela." Soldier 76 sat up, his forehead speckled with sweat. There was urgency in his voice. "They aren't after _us_."

"They aren't? Then…" The doctor's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh no." She muttered under her breath.

Soldier leaned closer. "Angela." He gripped her arm tightly. "Where is Tracer?"

— O —

 _Knock, knock, knock_. Emily's eyes fluttered open, stray strands of hair blocking her view. She blew them off, letting them fall back over her ear. She shifted in bed, turning towards the silhouette against the pale curtains. "Lena?" Her voice was croaky from sleep.

"I'll get it, love." Lena turned around, fiddling with the top button on a white-yellow shirt. She winked as she slung a metal harness over her shoulders, the glowing orb on her chest whirring slightly in the city night. "Go back to sleep."

Emily murmured something even she didn't understand, and snuggled back into the patterned pillows. She could hear her girlfriend, or wife, now ( _it's still so difficult to believe that's really the case_ ), snap on the last latch on the harness, and almost slide towards the door with soundless footsteps. The night was chilly, but some colored city light poked through the veiled curtain. She sighed into her bed, and felt herself fade into slumber.

 _BANG!_ Emily jolted awake, wondering if she was dreaming. Lena wasn't beside her. _Thud._ She could make out voices, shouting in the other room. The bedroom door was open, and she could see a sickening light that almost looked red…

"Over here! Move it!" A gruff voice barked orders as the Emily realized what was happening. A black figure stepped into the bedroom, red goggles nearly popping out of his skull-like mask. He pointed a gun. "Get down, off the bed!" He looked behind him and shouted. "Get over here! Now!"

Emily got up and out of bed smoothly, almost calmly, although her heart felt like it would explode in her chest. Subconsciously aware of her nudity, she wrapped herself in her blanket, a long drapery with floral patterns drawn along its edges. Preposterously, Emily almost slipped into her slippers before the man dug his fingers into her arm and dragged her out of the room.

The living room was destroyed, tables upturned, the flatscreen and several windows shattered, the couch flipped over. Five armored men, dressed similarly to her assailant, waited for Emily as she was pulled from her room, too shocked to fight back. The door was open, and a breeze that smelled like gasoline blew in through the window. It took the woman a moment to realize there was a corpse on the floor.

Lena lay face down, wings of blood seeping into the rug. Her brown hair had flopped over her head, her legs bent awkwardly. She didn't move. The five men converged on Emily, the barrels of their guns pointing straight at her. They were bickering to each other, their voices distorted by their skull-masks.

"I've found her plus one." The one who held Emily had some type of accent, but she didn't even try to place it. Everything felt numb. "Let's take her."

The men looked at each other, evidently confused. "This wasn't part of the mission." One said.

"We kill her." Another pointed the barrel of his rifle towards the terrified woman. "She's no use as a hostage."

"Are you sure?" The one who grabbed Emily seemed to intimidate the others. "Overwatch is loyal to its associates. We need a bargaining chip." Then, he tilted his head, his hand coming up to his ear. "Yes?" His voice was subdued, its commanding tone gone. "But what about- oh… Of course, ma'am. I'm sorry. We'll be out." He turned back to his comrades. "Kill her and take the target. She wants Tracer- the hell?" A brief flash of light filled the room, and when the soldiers turned around, Lena was no longer there.

Two died before they knew what was happening, two muffled pops from Lena's gun preceding their collapse. Another spun around towards the bedroom, but was greeted with a flash of light and a fist smashing into his jaw, dislodging several teeth and knocking him back over the couch. Streaks of neon blue darted around the room, each agent flailing their rifles wildly, attempting to hit the light. The stray bullets punched through the windows and furniture. Emily heard screaming from the apartments next door.

The man who held Emily tightened his grip, and pulled a sidearm under her chin. "You dash one more time and she's dead, bitch!" He growled. Emily could feel the cold barrel of the gun press into her throat.

The blue streaks of light immediately stopped, and Lana appeared, holding an agent's limp body by his neck. She was breathing heavily, her left hand pointing her pistol towards the accented man. The room was devastated, the rest of the Talon agents were left groaning or motionless on the floor. Someone had shot out the lamp, and only the now-blue din of the streetlights and Tracer's chronal accelerator kept the apartment lit. The last agent's red eyes pierced the shadowy night. "Drop them." He commanded.

Lena glared at the man, her eyes darting back from him to Emily's. Trails of white streaked down Emily's face, her eyes dark with red veins. The gun quivered in the hero's hand for a second before she dropped it, letting out a short sigh as the pistol clanged on the wooden floor. She slowly raised her hands above her head, clenched into fists.

The agent seemed to relax his grip a bit, and moved forwards, yanking Emily along. "Move along." He barked. "With me." Emily scuffled along the floor, and tripped.

The man looked down to pull her back up, and looked forwards just in time to see Lena slam her hand into his neck. He was knocked backwards in a sickening, jerking manner, with blue light all around him. His helmet cracked as it hit the wall, and one of his red goggles broke as he went limp and collapsed to the ground.

It was then that Emily found her breath, taking in a huge gasp of air, which then came out shaky and broken. She didn't realize that she was sobbing until Lena had her arms around her. "Calm now, love. It's alright." Lena held her tightly. "They won't ever hurt you. I won't let them."

"I- how-" Emily felt like she was breathing through a straw, scarcely able to take in enough air to speak. "But you- you were there and…" She shook her head and brought herself to speak slowly. "You were dead?"

Emily was surprised when she felt Tracer chuckle. "You have no idea how often I've heard that at work." She pulled away from the embrace and held Emily's face, nudging a lock of red hair away from her face. "I'm fine. Honest. Just a hero thing, is all." She looked around, at the unconscious and dead men around them. She showed no evident emotion. "We'll get to the car. I'll call Winston, and we'll go to the Watchpoint until everything is over with, okay?"

Emily's breathing began to calm, though her heart still punched at her chest. She saw the determined glint in Lena's eyes, and mustered up a small smile. "Okay." She agreed.

After Emily changed into a new set of clothes, Tracer explained their situation to the police and neighbors who had congregated outside the door, flashing some sort of professional badge when the police wanted to take her in for questioning. Tracer took Emily's hand and led her down the stairs, feeling her shoes click against the wooden steps. She stopped at the door which lead to the street level and turned to look at Emily. "Here, love." Lena pulled out a pistol from her hand bag, and offered it grip-first to her girlfriend. "Safety is on the left side, here-" She pointed to a small switch just above the trigger, "-and make sure that you keep your thumb clear of the slider." Emily looked at her girlfriend in confusion. "Just until we get to the Watchpoint. I promise you, you won't have to use it."

Emily stared at the gun for a bit, then sighed and took it from her hand. It was front-heavy, and cold. She stuffed it into the back of her pants, and pulled her orange-yellow raincoat over it. "Thanks."

Tracer looked away. "Let's get going." She said as she pulled her own white coat over her head. She pulled the door open, and stepped into the rain. It was pouring, creating a foggy mist that she'd seen so often in London streets. She looked both ways, but to little effect. The light of her chronal accelerator lit a three foot cone in front of her, but after that her sight dispersed to a wall of diffuse grey. She couldn't even make out her car on the curb from here, but there didn't seem to be anyone around.

She turned around to beckon for Emily to come out, when something exploded next to them. Purple smoke filled the air, they both fell to the ground, their eyes and throats burning. The rainwater around them turned a sulfury yellow as a figure walked out of the grey shroud. Eight red lights shone from her head, individually poking around in the darkness. Tracer looked up, through her watery eyes, saw a woman holding a long, blue rifle. She smirked down at the hero.

"A-" Tracer fell into a fit of coughing. "Amélie."

Widowmaker kneeled down, holding up Lena's head. Her helmet parted to reveal a blue face and cold eyes. " _Salut,_ _ma chérie_. It seems I'm little late to this party." She let go, and Tracer's head fell into the water. She couldn't find the strength to move, and could see Emily collapsed in the doorway, in much the same condition. Her eyes pleaded for help. "Consider this an invitation to my own." The blue woman said, her helmet snapping shut.

Eight red lights zoomed in on Emily's forehead, who leaned against the door. "No…" Tracer muttered weakly. The rainwater flowed onto her tongue, and it burnt. "No…"

Widowmaker held up her rifle, and it began to glow dimly blue and make a whirring noise. Emily looked over to Lena, and gave a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes. A line of light shot out of the rifle, smashing into Emily's forehead. Her head smacked back and she was thrust into the door before she slowly began to fall onto her side. She collapsed into the pavement, her scarlet hair falling over her head. She didn't move.

Tracer tried to scream. She twitched, and spasmed as she tried to hoist herself up, to press her accelerator, to reverse this and kill Widow… But everything was so difficult to do, to see. Blurry and tough to make her body act. She couldn't think. Time sprinted and didn't move at all, all fluid and jumpy. Suddenly, Widowmaker wasn't there, and three policemen were around her, helping her up, helping her onto an orange stretcher. Lena didn't see Emily's body, it had faded into the veil of rain. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't. She wanted them to get her wife as well.

Maybe that was when she passed out.


	3. Chapter 2

"So, how do you know Angela?" Reinhardt peaked out of the green-tinted windows of the Lord's Bar. The Talon operatives were still outside. One was on the phone, another had a large machine gun weighing him down. Reinhardt held Angela's gun in his right hand, a light derringer which barely fit his gauntlet.

"I'm a British operative. Assigned to keep Dr. Zeigler safe until further notice. She has had multiple personal threats against her recently." Oliver was looking through the window using a makeup mirror fished from his pocket. His sharp eyes were scanning the road. "They haven't done anything yet. Why haven't they?"

Reinhardt glanced over at the oily man with a grin tugging at his lips. "We have four veteran Overwatch agents in here." He exclaimed. "I doubt they'll attack us. We outmatch them in every way, and Talon doesn't have the courage to-" _Bang, bang!_

Reinhardt ducked as two bullets shattered the glass, punching into the drywall behind him. "Never mind." He was impressed.

Reinhardt stood, putting the gun to his good eye, and fired a few potshots at them. They _dinked_ off of the sides of the armored truck, and the operatives ran to take cover behind the trees and cars. Somewhere in the rain, a woman screamed, and the amorphous silhouette of the streetlight crowd quickly dispersed. _Good_. The street was almost entirely empty, apart from the terrorists in black jumpsuits. Oliver yanked the large man's arm, and they both fell onto the floor just as the _ratatatatata_ of a machine gun blasted through the windows and olive door.

"Eek!" Reinhardt heard Angela the gunfire passed above her. She looked up. Soldier 76 was almost entirely patched up, just a few pieces of fragmentation that needed to be removed. Her white dress was bloodied from the impromptu surgery. "Reinhardt! We need some cover!"

He gave a brisk nod, and took a step back from the bullet-hole door. "You, uh, might want to step aside." He told Oliver. The man slid away, giving the giant man a wide berth. Reinhardt let out a huge gust of a sigh. _It is time to be a hero again!_ He told himself. "For JUSTICE!" Reinhardt bellowed as he charged the door.

Angela face palmed. "That's not what I meant." She called out meekly, knowing he wouldn't listen.

He punched through the wood like it was cardboard, and the giant knight charged through the rainy, London streets. A few bullets bounced off of his shoulder plate as the knight raised his arm, creating a wide wall of hard light. The blue, phosphorescent wall deflected the machine gun fire, and the ricochet scattered, peppering cars and the walls of buildings along the street. The agents backed up, seeing the lumbering giant step towards them, the bullets having seemingly no effect on his shield. Reinhardt lumbered up the street, feeling every bullet punch his arm through the shield. An agent ran into the armored truck, closing the door behind him.

He was halfway across the street when Reinhardt saw some of the operatives discovering his weakness. The man with the machine gun kept firing to force him to keep his shield up, and the others started to run around him, their rifles steady. They had begun to flank the giant. _I cannot attack while I have my shield up…_ He prayed Angela work quickly.

Two bullets smashed Reinhardt's back, knocking him onto his knees. His shield wavered and began to crack. _Don't fall now_! He thought. His fist clenched and unclenched, wishing for the comfort of his hammer. If only he had his hammer, these fools would not still be standing… The machine fire kept peppering Reinhardt's shield, and pieces of it began to chip off and fall to the ground like the rain. Two soldiers behind him fired again, and the knight was knocked off his feet, splashing into the puddle beneath him. The operatives cheered, and the man with the machine gun loaded in another belt. He glowered over the knight and raised his gun…

 _Ratatatatata._ When Reinhardt heard the machine fire, he was sure he was dead. But, in the rainy night, he heard the soldiers behind him collapse to the ground. _Ratatatatata_. The bullets pelted the soldier above him, making him spasm and shake in a morbidly comical fashion, the rain beneath him darkening as his suit was breached. He fell to his knees, then on his face. _Ratatatatata_. The lights of the truck lit up, and were almost immediately shattered by bullet storm. It's low rev almost was almost drowned out by the gunfire the vehicle pulled away, sparks glancing off of its metal carapace. The gunfire stopped, and the patter of rain saturated the air. The sounds after a battle. Of heavy nothing.

After a while, Reinhardt shoved himself up, feeling his back where he was shot. His armor was dented, but not pierced. He sighed as he stood, feeling his back and knees crack with the pressure. _I'm certainly not as young as I once was._ He grunted as he turned back around.

"Yer buying the drinks next time." Torbjörn sat next to a large turret forged of gears, guns, a lever, several chunks of the beer sink, and parts that looked suspiciously like bumpers from the defunct pinball machine in the back of the bar. His grin was wide, and his face as red as ever. His machine whirred with mechanical life, and Torbjörn tightened some bolt with a comically large wrench. "You like 'er?"

Reinhardt looked over the scene, and burst out into a gale of crinkly laughter. "I'm not even going to begin to ask you how you managed that." The knight limped back to the bar, and placed his massive hand on his shoulder. "I thank you, friend."

"Damn right, you should." The small man replied. He turned around, glancing back towards the doctor and her patient. Soldier 76 was already back on his feet and was placing all his holsters and knives over red bandages, although most of his guns had been taken for Torbjörn's impromptu turret. He flung his jacket over his shoulders and beckoned for the two agents to come back in.

"We need to get to Tracer." Soldier reiterated as soon as Torbjörn and Reinhardt were back in the bar.

"She has an apartment in Kings Row." Angela was packing away her stitching supplies, soaking lengths of red string and dirtied needles in vials of alcohol. "It's off the books, she and her girlfriend are under aliases. Talon shouldn't be able to find her for now."

"That was before they had the shade." Soldier rebutted. "They had sent Talon forces after _me_ a few weeks back. I imagine that was her doing." Everyone looked surprised.

"But even Winston couldn't find you." Reinhardt grimaced as he moved, and Angela appeared next to him wordlessly, gingerly poking the dints in his armor and bruises on his face. "How-"

"I don't know. She's some sort of software mastermind." Soldier leaned against the bar, grimacing. His red visor glinted in the dim tavern light. "She sent me a clue that she might be after Tracer tonight, during this time of meeting. I figured she would be safer with us-"

"Whoa, hold up." Torbjörn raised his wrench to interrupt 76. "You're telling me that you were _told_ that this woman would go after Tracer, and that she would do it tonight while we are meeting here, and you just _went_ with it?"

"She's sent me reliable information before." Soldier shook his head. "I'm not sure about it either, Tor. I can't begin to understand her motives. She doesn't seem to be Talon, maybe just employed by them at the moment. Her tips had helped me save lives, after Dorado. If she says something will happen, it will."

The room was silent for a moment, and then Oliver walked back in, talking to someone on the phone. "…Of course. I'll tell them now." He put his phone down and looked over the heroes. "The local police have found something over in King's Row. An apartment was shot up, and several Talon thugs found unconscious or worse, as well as evidence of a gas bomb used near the apartment. There was one civilian casualty of the gas, being rushed to the hospital near the clock tower." His jaw tightened. "By most accounts, it seems this civilian was Tracer."

— O —

Tracer's eyes were nearly burnt by the bright, blue light. The ceiling was white. She began to panic, to move and wake up. Her arm felt cold, something being injected into it through the little, plastic IV attached to her wrist. Her heart began to rush, she felt claustrophobic. Her chest piece was crushing her. Where was Emily? The room around her beeped and beeped, and suddenly it was ringing and there was shouting and a siren and everything was crashing around her and she heard propellers snapping and the engine burst-

"Lena!" Tracer snapped back to reality. The light above her was buzzing slightly behind a blurry head. A monitor was beeping behind to their right. There were flowers on the bedside table. "Calm down Lena, it's me. It's just me." The familiar face came into focus, her sharp features lengthening for a reassuring smile.

"Mercy?" Tracer's voice was muffled through a suction-like breathing machine. She weakly brought her hand up to tear it off.

Angela gently pushed Tracer's wrist back down. "It's been a long time since anyone's called me that." The doctor's voice was soft. Sympathetic. "How are you feeling?"

Tracer tried to sit up, but couldn't make it off her pillow. Her bones felt like they had been solidified into into one mass. Her nerves tingled, like little spiders crawling just underneath her skin. It _burnt_. "Honest?" Tracer tried to smile through the mouthpiece. "I think I've come down with something, doctor. A bit feverish, and I've been having the hardest time looking at the light. Do I look pale to you?"

Dr. Ziegler gave her patient a faint chuckle, although it sounded sad. "You've been unconscious for a twenty five hours, Lena." She said. "Torbjörn and Reinhardt have been waiting outside. We thought your condition wouldn't get better."

Tracer twisted her head with great effort. The door to the hall was open, a shining white rectangle of light pouring in from the outside. She could see the glint of Reinhardt's armor from across the hall. There was no other bed in the room. "Where is Emily?" Tracer asked, unable to look up to see Angela.

The doctor hesitated. "She… wasn't there." She finally answered. "There is evidence there was a struggle of some kind. She might have been dragged away."

Tracer could hear her monitor begin to beep faster as she clenched her fist. "Where?" Her voice was strained. "Where is she?"

"We don't know." Angela admitted. "76 warned us about the attack, but we were too late. He's searching for clues about Emily-"

"No." Tracer interrupted. The victim turned her head to face Angela. "Where is Talon? Where is _Widow_?"

Angela blinked in surprise. _Amélie_? She furrowed her eyebrows. _I thought I recognized that poison…_ "This is the first I'm hearing of Widowmaker being involved, Lena." The doctor responded. "But the authorities are interrogating all apprehended Talon agents they can, and we're having Winston run a comprehensive analysis of all their communication pieces and the toxins you were exposed to. We'll find her."

Tracer locked eyes with Angela for a moment, something ferocious lay behind that stare. Pure anger. Then the time-traveler sighed and let her head sink back into the pillow. "I know you will." She muttered.

"Get some rest." Angela said, fixing the blanket around her shoulders. "We need you in action. You've the most experience fighting Widowmaker, and not all the former agents are returning our call."

"Believe me, Mercy." Tracer looked over again, her cheerful look back behind her eyes. "The cavalry'll be there." _You can count on it_.

Angela nodded, and strode out of the room.

— O —

Soldier 76 shifted his position on the dull trashcan, seeing a black alley cat pass his feet. Then another. Then several dozen half-starved felines started to sit down around him, looking up at the old man in tattered clothing with disinterested, green eyes. As he watched them go, one curled up on the green dumpster next to him, scarcely a kitten. He stared at it through his visor, and offered it a gloved hand. The small thing mewed and pressed itself on his knuckles.

"And they said I would turn out to be the crazy cat lady." Jack looked away from the cat, realizing the woman who had materialized before him. Her black and blue hood covered all of her face except her left eye and a tuft of white hair on her forehead. She wore black pants and a dark grey sweater, which was covered by a translucent poncho glistening with rain. She leaned on a guitar case suspiciously large enough to hold her famed rifle. "Hello, Jack."

"Ana." 76 stepped off of the can, and some of the cats scattered. It was a little unnerving that most of them were black. "It's good to see you again."

The old woman smiled, her tattoo crinkling next to her eyes. "I've heard you've been getting into a lot of trouble recently, Jack. Want to talk about it?"

"No, I'd rather talk about this." Soldier 76 reached into his jacket and held out a shell casing. It was clear, strangely glass-like structure, with a hint of a blue substance inside.

Ana snatched it away and held it up to her good eye, incredulous. "This… this is impossible." She muttered. "Where did you get this?"

"It was found outside of Tracer's apartment, where, apparently, Emily Oxton was kidnapped."

"Interesting. The sight of the Widowmaker attacks, right? Then there's no- wait, _Oxton_?" The old woman furrowed her eyebrows. "Lena married? When? Why was I not invited? I swear, if you or Fareeha knew anything about this-"

"It's just on paper, Ana." 76 cut her off before she would go on a tangent. "Apparently they were waiting for the right time to tell all of us, privately. A ceremony would have been a target."

"Anything's a target to Talon." Ana grumbled, but she could understand the logic. She turned her attention back to the casing. "So, Emily is taken, Lena is hospitalized for almost two days… and the perpetrator was using my gun."

76 wished he was surprised. "Tracer said it was the Widowmaker who took Emily."

Ana scoffed. "Figures. She's one of few living people who have seen this rifle in action. The shell's an almost perfect replica of my own."

"Almost?"

Ana handed the casing back to the soldier. "Well, the shell actually is a perfect replica. But the gun isn't. Check there, near the back? There's a scratch."

76's visor glowed slightly, and soon the scratch was zoomed in, enlarged. It looked like the metal had been peeled off slightly of the top of the casing. It was almost impossible to see, even with his enhanced vision. "And?"

"There was an issue with the rifling of the first model of biotic rifle, the only one to have digital blueprints." She explained. "One section of the barrel was slightly bent on the interior, leading to a variable .6 millimeter pull up on the bullet when it left the chamber, and this scratch in the shell casing." Ana ducked next to Soldier as the rain worsened, forcing her to speak up to be heard. "It might not sound like much, but I needed perfection. So, as soon as I could, I replaced that section with a length of modified rifling from an old Bastion recon rifle. I haven't missed a shot since."

Soldier raised an eyebrow, although he wasn't certain she could see it in the rain. "And what does that mean for this new rifle?"

"It means it isn't new at all." She replied. "It's the old model. One of first, in fact. I would say one of the prototypes from Mercy's lab, but it doesn't bear her original colors…"

"And that lab was destroyed." Soldier frowned. "I should know. I died in that explosion."

Ana elbowed him in his good side. "Don't be so dramatic." She said. "Besides, the blueprints at least must have survived for them to get their hands on this." She narrowed her eyes, and folded her hands in her poncho. "Still, this doesn't add up. Sure, they might have a biotic rifle, but why use it? She easily could have just taken Emily then and there. Unless…" Ana closed her eye and lowered her head. She was thinking.

"Unless what?" Soldier didn't have time to contemplate.

"Well…" Ana even sounded uncertain of herself. "It is possible to make your own rifle, with several… insidious modifications. You would just need to get the old blueprints and the right materials. You'd need something large to produce many rifles, like a factory or…" Her eye shot open. "A Volskaya industrial pass. To one of their old production facilities and all the outdated parts that are there."

"So the attack on Volskaya…" 76 began.

"…Was perpetrated to get the gun parts and facilities to manufacture biotic rifles. Katya wasn't even the target." Ana finished. She shoved off of the wall and began to trudge out into the rain. "Jack, I'm going to Russia. I need to stop the production of these weapons before they become widespread."

"Then I'm coming with you." Soldier decided. "You need backup."

Ana sighed. "We're not doing this again." She turned her one eye back towards him. "They need you here, with Lena and Angela and everyone else. You need to keep them safe, especially if the Widowmaker is running about. And I need you need to look for Emily while I'm gone."

"Ana." 76 moved closer. "I don't have time for this."

Ana raised an eyebrow. "Neither do I." _Pop_!

Soldier 76 looked down to see a needle filled with a light blue liquid stabbed into his bad side. He grimaced as he collapsed to the ground, feeling the effects of the tranquilizer kick in almost immediately. "…Bitch…" He managed to spit out as he rather ungracefully fell on his face. Ana spun around, picking up her guitar case and brushing the rainwater off of her poncho.

"Sorry, Jack." She called back as she faded into the rain. "These rifles are my fault. I need to destroy them."


End file.
